Barstool Mountain
by Gixxer Pilot
Summary: Their second year at the Academy completed, Kirk manages to convince McCoy to come imbibe in some celebratory drinks with a bunch of cadets. The one thing Bones forgot? He ain't as good as he once was, but he's as good once as he ever was. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Barstool Mountain

**Author**: Gixxer Pilot

**Summary**: Their second year at the Academy completed, Kirk manages to convince McCoy to come imbibe in some celebratory drinks with a bunch of cadets. The one thing Bones forgot? He ain't as good as he once was, but he's as good once as he ever was.

**Author's Notes**: I thought my original Trek/Transformers crossover was total crack. Since that story has since demanded an actual plot with - gasp - drama, it appears that I lied. _This_ one is total crack. Though it's related to "Matters of Medical Necessities, it's not even near a prerequisite to read that first to understand this story. This fic stands entirely on its whacked own, and is fully in the Star Trek reboot verse. No giant fighting robots here!

Anyway, a bit of background: I made up a reference in the third chapter of "Matters" of an incident Kirk spearheaded involving McCoy, some cadets, the Power Hour and a really stupid bet, and I had a feeling there'd be a few of you who'd want to see the whole thing as it played out in a full fic. Every adult seems to have one of these, "Oh my god, I was so drunk, I don't know why I did what I did," stories, and I figured even McCoy can't be immune to that. Well, having Kirk the Instigator as a roommate probably doesn't help matters, either.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Star Trek or Toby Keith's brilliantly funny song, which I had nearly on repeat as I wrote this fic. Don't sue. That would really, really suck. (For me, I mean.) I also don't condone any underage drinking, or drinking to excess. Know your limits, people, that's all.

* * *

If asked, Leonard McCoy would fully confirm that life is a fickle wench and fate is an equally cold mistress. He'd really had little choice in the matter. His ex-wife took him to the figurative cleaners during their divorce, pilfering everything of tangible and more painfully, intangible value from him. Broken, bitter and lonely, the new divorcee found himself on a shuttle full of bright eyed and bushy tailed recruits, some nearly half his age, all the while wondering what in the _hell_ he was thinking when he signed the enlistment papers.

'_You were drunk when you signed up, you dumbass. You _weren't_ thinking_,' McCoy's inner monologue had scolded him time and time again.

When, exactly, he managed to lose the last shreds of control over his life he wasn't sure, but he thought it might have had something to do with a proclamation of probable regurgitating during the shuttle trip from Iowa. In retrospect, the first thing McCoy might have said to one James Tiberius Kirk probably should not have been, "I may throw up on you."

Perhaps, if he'd actually managed to puke all over Kirk during that fateful trip, the kid might have left him alone to his misery. Instead, the doctors somehow made it all the way to San Francisco without forcibly evacuating the contents of his stomach, and made himself a friend in the process. And when they'd arrived at Academy check-in, both men found that, magically, they were assigned as roommates.

McCoy mentally flipped off fate, that annoying bitch, and settled into his new, if somewhat forced, life.

Two years later, "Bones," as Kirk had taken to calling him, was a bit less angry, a tad less bitter and one very important step above the completely broken man who'd boarded the shuttle in Iowa. He was still jaded, grouchy and cantankerous, but he knew that in James Kirk he had a friend that actually understood him. Most importantly, Kirk accepted him fully, snark and all.

That wasn't to say having Jim Kirk as a roommate was easy. The man attracted trouble like a moth to a flame. Sometimes Bones thought the only reason Kirk kept him around as a roommate and friend was so Jim didn't have to go to the infirmary every time he got in a tussle with someone undoubtedly bigger, stronger and usually dumber. McCoy was used to being the voice of reason, the one that had the clear head. It's what made his friendship with Kirk work so well.

So when Kirk pestered him for an entire week during their second year to go unwind after finals, Bones adamantly refused. There was no way he was going to hang out with a bunch of rowdy kids when he could be relaxing after a tough class schedule and an even tougher work schedule. Not only did McCoy take the required credit load for Starfleet Medical's advanced placement track, he also worked part time at the campus hospital. It was downright exhausting, and the doctor wanted nothing more than to get some sleep and de-stress.

Unfortunately, McCoy had also come to learn in the past two years that, in another language, 'James Kirk' translated to 'annoyingly persistent.' The kid just wouldn't give up. He'd taken a special liking to the country doctor and insisted Bones have a little fun now and again. And though McCoy appreciated the effort, sometimes he just wanted to be that 'Boring Old Guy' all the younger cadets insisted he was.

"No, Jim. For the fortieth time, I don't have any desire to go out and watch you slobber all over some random girl and generally make an ass of yourself." McCoy sighed, shoving his History of Starfleet data PADD on the bookshelf next to his bed.

"Come on, Bones! You need to lighten up, live a little. You spend all your time cooped up in this tiny room, doing next to nothing." Kirk flipped a chair around backwards and sat down, his arms pillowed on top of the backrest.

"I do plenty, Jim. I spend all my free time, which is about five damned minutes a day, in this room because I'm a cadet here _and_ I work at the hospital. I want to sleep when I actually can!" McCoy retorted.

Kirk did his best to look serious. "We've been here almost two years. In those two years, you've gone out with me exactly once. And during that one time, you spent the entire night brooding into your drink, which was a major turn off to the ladies who think you're quite dashing."

Any further comment Kirk might have made was cut off as McCoy launched his dirty PT sweats at his roommate. "I can get just as drunk right here, in this room. I don't see the point of having to go out in public to accomplish the same goal, Jim. I'm not going. I have no interest in going."

"Yes, you are. Now, we've taken up a petition on this." Kirk reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small PADD. "And we all think you need to get out and hit the town for a night."

Bones rolled his eyes. "A petition? Let me see that." McCoy made a swipe for the PADD, but Kirk's quick reflexes kept the device out of his reach.

Kirk tapped a couple of times on the screen, presumably bringing up the document. "I have 167 separate names, all from this dorm, who think that you need a night out. I mean, you think I'm wrong, but you can't really argue with 166 more, right?"

McCoy shook his head. Jim had been like this all week and Bones knew there was no way he was going to be left alone tonight, not when Kirk was hell bent on getting him out. Cursing liberally, he agreed. "Fine. I will go with you if it will shut you the hell up for the next two years. But, dammit, Jim, don't expect me to enjoy it!"

"Great!" Kirk popped up off his chair, pocketing the PADD with smooth efficiency. Giving his roommate a manly whack on the arm as he passed, Jim said, "You'll have fun, Bones. I promise."

"You are shameless, you know that?"

"Never denied it." Kirk reached the threshold of the door. "We're all leaving at 2000 hours. Be ready, old man." Before Bones could come up with an acceptably snarky response, Jim slammed the door shut and strolled casually down the hall.

In the dorm room, McCoy cursed under his breath and muttered, "Unbelievable." Bones knew he was going to regret this, but he had to figure out exactly how.

* * *

By 2100 hours, McCoy was really wondering how he'd allowed himself to be talked into this. With age was supposed to come maturity. He was the adult, the one that was supposed to be setting the example for all the young people around Starfleet Academy. He was the trusted doctor, the healer. He was the one that dragged everyone home safely and made sure they didn't die from alcohol poisoning during the night.

Belatedly, Bones wondered under what part of the job description of 'doctor' included bonging a beer in ten seconds or less.

Wiping his face with the back of his hand, McCoy walked a bit unsteadily toward the table his group was occupying, giving a couple of short nods to a few people who'd appreciated his drinking prowess. He was nowhere near drunk, though he had that nice, euphoric buzz around him. Though he'd never admit it publically, maybe Kirk was right. He did need to get out more.

The eclectic mishmash of cadets Kirk managed to round up was having a great time, chatting up patrons and making new friends. What started as a group of ten now was down to just six. Four of the cadets from engineering found themselves another party and told Kirk and Bones not to wait up. Jim smiled knowingly at the group and bade them good luck.

Two hours and a rainbow of different drinks later, Bones was ready to say he was good and drunk. Time no longer had the same meaning when he was sober, and things he'd found positively stupid just a few short hours ago were now incredibly funny. And on his somewhat frequent trips to the can, he'd found that walking in a straight line presented an equally different challenge to both stay upright and avoid crashing into any moving furniture scattered about the bar.

"Well, what do you think, party animal? Should we head back?" Jim asked, for once the nearly sober member manning the somewhat rowdy group. Kirk figured someone had to be responsible, and if that had to be his job this one time, he'd do it just to see his roommate loosen up a bit.

Bones tried to focus on Kirk's face. He wasn't sure which was the real Jim. One Kirk was bad enough, but two? The doctor stumbled into the table, righted by Jim. "Yeah. I suppose. 'S late."

Jim laughed and wrapped his right arm around McCoy's shoulders to steady the man. "No, it's not late. You're just drunk."

"Or that, too," Bones slurred.

The six cadets remaining hopped on a transport and made their way back to the campus. Walking across the parade grounds. Kirk noticed instantly that the dorms were louder than normal. It appeared the celebration of a semester done was already well under way and for once, the resident advisors were allowing the cadets to cut loose and party it up.

After dropping their jackets in their room, Kirk and McCoy ventured down the hall toward one of the dorm's communal recreation areas. On the way, Jim and Bones ran into their four bar companions. The group made its way into the rec room, finding it occupied by another half dozen cadets. Kirk's eyes lit up when saw the action taking place on the behind the large couches. Instead of the pool table being used for its intended purpose, the ridiculously expensive and donated felt table was being used to support none other than a beer pong tournament. By the look of pure excitement in Jim's eyes, it appeared he was well versed in the game. Conversely, by the expression of confusion plastered all over McCoy's face, it also appeared that the doctor was most decidedly unfamiliar.

"What's this, Jim?" Bones asked, gesturing toward the table.

Kirk looked at McCoy like he'd grown a second head and '_tsked_' softly. "Bones, this is why we need to get you out more. We've been here two years, and I can't believe you've never played." Jim turned to put his entire body towards McCoy's. "Tell me you've at least _heard_ of this game before."

"Nope."

"Not even in the ER?" Jim was flabbergasted.

Bones ran a hand through his hair. "When I'm pumping someone's stomach, I don't have time to get the specifics on whatever idiotic game they were playing. I'm trying to save their lives, not keep up with pop culture. Forgive me if I've never heard of it."

One of the cadets, Norwicki, looked flabbergasted. He twisted around from his seat on the couch and asked, "You've never played or heard of beer pong, McCoy? How is that possible? Didn't you go to college?" Though the young biologist was nowhere near as intoxicated as the doctor, the alcohol had managed to loosen his tongue a bit. "I mean, this game is almost as ancient as you are!"

"Of course I went to college, you idiot. I'm a doctor, but I spent my time studying instead of finding new and childish ways to get wasted."

"Must have been a boring school!" Norwicki shot back. "Damn glad I didn't go there!"

Without missing a beat, Bones countered with a snarky, "At least I never got lost in a Jefferies tube during training, panicked, and required a rescue."

Without a sufficient comeback, Norwicki shut his mouth and walked away. The young man was muttering under his breath about sadistic doctors and required physicals. McCoy just smirked triumphantly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Kirk watched Norwicki wander off. He turned back to the game and read McCoy's questioning expression. "Do you want to give it a shot, Bones?"

McCoy observed the game, feeling some more of the alcohol's kick. He shook his head. "No. It looksstupid anyway," he slurred.

A devious idea popped into Kirk's head. The night was still too young to go back to their dorm and listen to McCoy snore, which was exactly what would happen if the doctor went to bed. Kirk's goal for the evening all along had been for Bones to loosen up. The man was already drunk, but to get Bones to ditch the absurdly large pile of inhibitions he routinely hid behind, it was going to take more than just 'drunk' for Jim to accomplish that. If it took a drinking game to get McCoy well and truly sloshed, then so be it. They were done with classes, and Bones' next shift at the hospital wasn't for another three days. To the room Kirk asked, "How about we play a different game?"

Several nods and exclamations to the affirmative greeted his ears. Another cadet, Sanders, who had also been out with Kirk's group shouted, "What do you have in mind?"

"I was doing some reading about vintage customs in my history of Earth class, and I came across an old game. A drinking game." Kirk's eyes flashed mischievously. "Now, we all know how old beer pong is, but at the time of inception for that game, another, probably more entertaining game, was equally as popular."

"Which was?" Sanders asked.

"It was called the 'Power Hour'."

"The power hour? Never heard of it," Sanders replied.

Kirk threw the index fingers of each hand up the air near his face. "And that, gentlemen, is precisely why I'm going to teach you."

Bones rolled his eyes. "Great. Let me go load up my hypos. Wonder if Starfleet will ever give me a cure for stupidity."

Kirk grabbed his best friend by the shoulder when McCoy tried to beat a hasty exit and pushed his best friend into the conveniently placed chair. "Oh no. Park it right there, Bones. You're not going anywhere."

"And why the hell not?" McCoy barked, incensed.

Kirk internally fought the urge to laugh. He decided the best way to get McCoy to do what he wanted was to play a bit to his friend's ego. Dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, Jim said, "Well, you can't very well be shown up by all these kids, now can you? If you don't play, then I'll just have to wipe the floor with someone else, and you'll still be that Boring Old Guy everyone thinks you are. Now, if you want to prove me wrong, I'd say you and I should to go first to let them know who's still in charge, because I _know_ I could drink you under the table."

McCoy's dark brows furrowed, a 'V' forming between his eyes. He turned to glare at Jim. Now this was a challenge to his manly pride, and his father didn't raise him to allow the family name to be insulted. McCoy growled quietly and bit his lip, listening to Jim taunting him. Bones knew that he was heavier and taller than Kirk, and that could hypothetically be advantageous. It also didn't hurt that McCoy's liver was accustomed to a high level intake of alcohol on a semi-regular basis. And if, during the process of said game, he was able to take Jim Kirk's rather ubiquitous ego down a peg, well, that was just an extra perk.

Translation: it was _on_.

"All right. Explain this game to me, and then prepare to get your ass handed to you on a silver platter, Kid," McCoy growled from his chair.

Whoops and hollers rang out from the room. Sanchez and Sanders may have slipped out to go round up an audience, but McCoy wasn't really sure. Norwicki and another cadet whom Bones had never seen, cleared off a card table and moved it over to where Bones sat. Kirk grabbed a chair and set it opposite his friend.

"So, the power hour is pretty simple. It's one shot of beer, every minute for an hour," he said as much to McCoy as he did to the rapidly growing assembled group.

"One shot a minute? What is that?" McCoy paused, the booze buzzing through his veins slowing his mental computation. "About six beers?"

"Yeah, thereabout." Jim leaned back in his chair. "But, if you want to make it really exciting, we can go for the Century Club. It's one shot of beer every minute for 100 minutes."

"I'm going to kick your scrawny ass either way, so I'll let you pick," McCoy drawled confidently, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Oh, no. You're choosing the game, because _when_," Kirk said, stressing the word, "you lose, I don't want you to be able to bitch that, 'Dammit, Jim, you rigged the game in your favor'." Jim scrunched his face up into a surprisingly accurate depiction of the classic McCoy scowl and imitated the doctor's voice, earning several laughs and giggles from the assembled crowd.

One glare from Bones had all the present cadets clearing their throats and biting their respective lips. Contemplating, McCoy said, "Power hour. Let's do the vintage game the way it was meant to be played. That, and I don't want to have to clean up your puke when you spew all over the floor."

Kirk laughed. "I hold my liquor better than you do, Bones."

"Unlikely," McCoy fired back. "Now, can we get to this so I can show you how it's done?"

"Whatever you say, old man." Jim smirked triumphantly. He had to suppress a laugh when he heard McCoy's accent thicken considerably with the last sentence. Bones, in his two years at the Academy, had worked diabolically hard to soften his rather pronounced Georgian accent. It only came back in spades when the doctor was either very upset, or very drunk. Jim knew if he could literally hear McCoy's Southern drawl coagulating as the words left his mouth, it meant Bones was far more intoxicated than the realized.

McCoy reciprocated by rolling his eyes heartily. "Old, my ass."

"I'll go get the drinks. Don't bother to get up. You're going need all your strength to take on the great James T. Kirk." But before Jim could rise from his seat, he stopped. "You know what? I think this needs to be more interesting. What do you all think?"

Bones turned his head to take a quick peek behind him and was momentarily shocked to see roughly two dozen cadets parked on the couch and on the floor. A mighty chorus swelled in agreement from the peanut gallery. "Bring it on, Jim. I was beating kids at games like this before you were able to stand up unaided."

"I thought you said you never played!" Norwicki yelled out.

Bones turned and fixed the young cadet with a stare that might have stopped Stonewall Jackson in his tracks. "I lied."

Kirk sat back and watched the exchange, laughing silently to himself. His eyes bounced over the faces of the crowd. Behind Michael Hutton, Jim spied the diminutive MP in training, Mariah Ryan. Thankfully, she looked relatively sober. "Mariah!" Jim called over the din of the room.

The young Asian cadet narrowed her eyes in suspicion and put her hands on her hips. James Kirk's reputation preceded him, and where his healthy street cred didn't fly as currency, his ego would step right up in the vacant spot. Ryan, apparently, didn't buy it, and that was a bit which annoyed Jim to no end. Lip twitching, she snapped, "What the hell do you want, Kirk? I told you before I won't sleep with you." Flipping her hair, she muttered, "Pig."

Ignoring her insult, Kirk asked, "You're in the MP program, right?"

"I am," she answered. "I'm surprised you can pull your head out of your ass long enough to realize that."

McCoy chimed in. "I think I like this girl."

"Shut it, Bones." Back to Ryan, Kirk put on his best face. "So you know how to conduct a field sobriety test, right?"

"Of course I do. It's one the first things they teach us." Her response was nearly automatic, but her intense gaze bored holes in the back of Jim's head.

"Good. Don't go anywhere for the next hour." Kirk turned back to Bones. "At the end of the time, Ryan here administers a field sobriety test. The one that fails accepts a challenge from the other person, no questions asked."

"What if you both fail?" Ryan asked reflexively. It was, after all, a valid question and after looking at the state McCoy was in, it was apparently a necessary one as well.

"Good point. Let's say the loser is the one that does the worst, and leave it at that," Kirk amended.

Ryan rolled her eyes. "Men. I'll never know how humanity achieved warp drive with such immature heathens running the world." Pointing one manicured nail in Jim's direction, she said, "Fine. I'll stay for the purely intrinsic entertainment I know you're both going to provide. But, you owe me, Kirk. And if anyone pukes on me, I swear I'll tie your balls to your nose just for shits and giggles."

McCoy narrowed his eyes in suspicion but processed the information nonetheless, threats to his manhood and all. Ryan was a neutral third party, and neither he nor Kirk had dealings with her in the past. Or, at least he hoped Kirk hadn't gotten in her pants before, though based off Ryan's reaction, the prospect seemed highly unlikely. It seemed pretty fair. "You mean anything? So when I win, I get to tell you to do anything I can think of, and you have to do it right then?"

"Anything," Kirk parroted. "But, you have to actually beat me first."

"That won't be tough."

Kirk scoffed. "Famous last words. Now, don't pass out on me while I go get the beer."

"You do that, Jim." McCoy leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on the table.

Kirk whistled innocently as he walked back to his room. He really, really felt bad about what he was going to do. Truly, Jim _did_ have a conscience, and from time to time, he did actually use it. It was just that he'd gotten quite proficient over the years at ignoring said conscience. Subsequently, Jim had also perfected the art of rationalization during those rare moments that his pesky ethical barriers did take a moment or two sit up and beg. In this particular instance, he'd surmised that the need to see McCoy unwind a little was worth whatever consequences karma may decide to bring down on him.

In his room, Jim raided the refrigerator, grabbing a twelve-pack of his beer of choice, classic Budweiser. As McCoy drank beer only as a desperate last resort when out of bourbon, the two 12 packs the doctor had purchased on a whim a while back were still collecting dust on the floor of the closet. Doubting his roommate would even remember what exactly he'd bought, Kirk grabbed a case from his personal stash of high octane beer and tucked both under his arms. Finally, Kirk grabbed four shot glasses, held them up to the light to inspect their somewhat dubious sanitation level, and shoved them in his pockets with a shrug, Exiting his room, Jim kicked his door shut and wandered back down the hall.

In the interim during which Kirk was running his errand, it appeared the capacity of the small recreation area had figuratively exploded. Sanchez and Sanders both somehow had started the telephone game in respect to the bet of all bets. Now, nearly every cadet still on campus wanted to see the epic showdown of Kirk versus McCoy for beer-chugging bragging rights.

"Got the poison," Kirk said, plopping both twelve packs down on the table.

When Kirk set down the beer, McCoy eyed it warily. His 'Don't Trust Jim Kirk' instinct was telling his something was off, but his alcohol-addled brain couldn't quite figure out what exactly that was. Bones' long fingers grasped one can. "Sam Adams Triple Bock. What's that?"

"It's good," Kirk replied automatically.

"God, I hate beer," McCoy muttered. Looking back at Jim, he questioned, "Why don't we have the same thing? 'S not fair."

"Oh yes it is. They're both beer, and that's all that counts," Jim replied. He prayed like hell McCoy was too drunk to think to check the alcohol content, because the disparity between the two was staggering. Nonchalantly, Kirk amended, "And unless you want to do sixty shots of Budweiser, I suggest you stop complaining. This was all we had left."

McCoy made a face that could only be described as disgust when Jim mentioned Budweiser. "No, I'll pass on the piss-water kid beer, thanks."

Kirk pulled three people out of the crowd: a person to time the minutes and two people to continually pour the shots. Sanchez and Sanders began lining up the shots with shot glasses that had magically appeared, now ten per side. Norwicki grabbed a stopwatch and counted down the time. "You two ready? In five, four, three, two, one…"

The tension in the room through the first five shots was palpable. Kirk and McCoy engaged in a stare down contest that would have made Captain Pike proud, neither man willing to yield. It took another five shots for Jim to get bored with that game, so he settled on a little idle chit-chat for the next twenty shots.

A half an hour into the power hour, McCoy was feeling the booze, and it really didn't have anything to do with the rapid intake of about six beers. No, Bones told himself it was because it had been some hours since he'd last eaten, and the doctor in him knew that food, protein especially, was helpful in the breakdown and digestion of alcohol by the body. But, he was never going to give Kirk the satisfaction of knowing that, and he'd pass out on the floor before he threw in the towel.

It was at forty-five minutes in that Bones realized the near dozen drinks he had at the bar earlier may not have been the best idea. The case of the dual Jim Kirks was back with a vengeance, and McCoy was having trouble focusing on his competition. Still, he'd been well more inebriated than his current state and still functioned to a varying degree after his divorce.

Norwicki called out the time to the final shot. The sober observers would agree that Jim looked buzzed, but not nearly as plastered as his roommate and friend. Both men toasted the final shot and threw it back, slamming the glasses down on the table with finality.

Ryan stepped up to the table as McCoy wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. It was show time. Mock-sweetly, she said, "Now, boys. Time for your test. McCoy, you're going first."

"Oh, thanks for the dubious honor," the doctor drawled, attempting to push himself up from his seat. He stumbled slightly, catching himself on the edge of the table. "Now, what do I get to do? Stand on my head? Juggle flaming torches?"

"I was thinking something a little less injury-inducing, but if you'd like to juggle flaming balls of fire, McCoy, be my guest. It's no skin off my ass. But in the interest of all of our careers, how about we try something a little more simplistic, hmm?" Tilting her head, Ryan asked, "Doctor, I can assume you are familiar with your Standard alphabet, yes?"

McCoy fixed her with a stare that had, '_You've got to be kidding me_,' plastered all over it. He snapped, "No. I just spell 'Plasmodium falciparum' by banging my head randomly and repeatedly on whatever data PADD is closest to my face and hope it comes out right. Of _course_ I know my alphabet, Cadet."

Unruffled, Ryan countered, "It's certainly nice to see your snark isn't affected by the alcohol, McCoy. I just have to ask. It's part of our training. Now, if you'd kindly remove the stick from you ass and listen to what I'm going to instruct you to do, I'd greatly appreciate it." Ryan crossed her arms over her chest and glared up at the doctor. He may have been a good foot taller than her, but she wasn't intimidated.

Kirk laughed and rolled his eyes, watching the stare down. What was it with short women dressing McCoy down? It wasn't that McCoy's antics lack a certain amusement factor, but pissing off the new generation of security officers probably wasn't the wisest of choices the doctor could make. "Are you two done with your pissing contest? Because there's someone here that's going to owe me one embarrassing stunt in about ten minutes."

In a split second, Ryan's facial expression went from pissed off and glaring at McCoy to relaxed and nearly friendly with Kirk. With a few, very select exceptions, drunk people annoyed the hell out of her. And though she had no problem with Bones when he was sober, a drunken McCoy was just cruising for a fist to the face. Glancing back at Kirk, she said, "We're good. It's fine. Doctor, could I have you possibly recite the alphabet backwards for me? Start with 'Z', please."

McCoy's jaw hit the floor. "Are you nuts, woman? I can't do that sober!" he shrieked.

Ryan answered silently by raising her right eyebrow.

Bones, realizing the future MP was serious, sighed. Tentatively, he began. "Z, Y, X, uh, T--," McCoy sputtered, completely lost. Looking down at a smug, grinning Ryan, Bones exclaimed, "Fuck, I can't do this shit! Give me a different test."

A laugh escaped from Jim at the wild, confused look on McCoy's face. It was similar to the one he'd seen from the doctor on the shuttle from Iowa. The 'backwards alphabet' was not part of the standard field sobriety test, and Kirk was well aware of that. Ryan was toying with his friend simply because she could, and Jim was selfishly enjoying the moment.

"Shut it, Jim. You're next," Bones growled.

"Well, can you say it forward?" Ryan asked, the disdain dripping off her words like water from a leaky faucet.

Jim shook his head and put a hand gently over Ryan's arm. "You know what, Ryan? This is really just an impromptu thing here. We're not really seeing if he's sober enough to operate any kind of motor vehicle, because it's clear he's not. We just need to see who's more lit up."

Mariah didn't bother to take her gaze from McCoy. Nodding, she agreed. "You're right, Kirk, though it pains me in a way you can't imagine to say that. All right. We'll do something easier. Even the Neanderthal over there," she motioned to the seated McCoy, the latter reciprocating by flipping her off, "should be able to handle it."

Ryan walked to the center of the room. She picked her right foot up about a foot from the ground and held it up. Looking first Kirk and then McCoy in the eyes, she said, "Do this, gentlemen. Whichever leg you choose to use is fine, but put it up and hold it for as long as you can. Count out loud the seconds you hold it."

Jim picked up his right foot. He wobbled a bit at the top, but managed to steady himself by shooting his arms out to their sides. Concentrating, he counted to ten out loud without dropping his foot or doing a very good impression of a Mexican jumping bean.

When Kirk reached ten, Mariah motioned for Jim to put his foot down. '_Not bad_,' she thought. She knew Jim had to be at least a little tipsy, though the full effect of the beer was likely to hit him a little later. Still, it was somewhat impressive that he'd been able to do the test with such relative ease. It also didn't hurt that Kirk was a natural athlete and had the balance and body control nearly unmatched at the Academy.

Ryan looked over at McCoy, Kirk's physically uncoordinated polar opposite, and harrumphed. This was going to be interesting. "McCoy! On your feet!"

McCoy hefted himself up and out of his chair, willing his body to behave when the world started to spin a bit. He would _not_ give Ryan or Kirk any physical cues. "You want me to do that…foot thing?"

Mariah internally rolled her eyes. Displaying as little emotion as she could, she said, "Yeah. The 'foot' thing. Go."

Bones shakily picked his right leg from the ground. It made it about six inches up before the doctor lost his balance. Frowning, he tried again, but with worse results. Looking at Ryan, Bones realized he wasn't going to get any sympathy.

Hands on her hips, Mariah barked, "I haven't made it to 'one' yet, McCoy."

Growling with embarrassment, Bones yanked his right foot up off the ground, but his alcohol induced lack of fine motor skills caused him to overcompensate when he checked his balance. McCoy stumbled a couple of steps backwards but managed to say upright.

"I think it's plainly obvious who the winner of this contest is," Ryan said with a sweep of her hand around the room. Kirk beamed.

As much as he wanted to fight, McCoy knew it would be a futile battle. "Goddammit, Jim. You win."

Kirk clapped his hands and shouted an emphatic, "Yes!" into the air.

Bones plopped himself down into the chair he was using earlier. "And how do you plan on making my existence even more miserable tonight?"

"I have several ideas, but I think we should leave it up to fate," Jim said.

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Fate hates me."

"Well, I believe in fate." Addressing the group, Kirk asked, "What do you guys think?"

A loud roar rippled through the crowd, the size of which had somehow doubled during the time of the game. At present, there were probably fifty cadets crammed into the rec area, all expecting to see something grand play out.

"The masses have spoken."

"Apparently."

Again addressing the group, Kirk hollered, "I need six PADDs. Any one will do, and no, I will not break them."

Nearly instantaneously, six cadet-issued data PADDs landed at his feet. Jim picked them up and wrote a single word on each screen. He tossed them in a discarded jacket and shook them up. "We're going to do something called 'luck of the draw.' Each PADD has something written on it. You do whatever you pick." Kirk thrust the jacket in McCoy's face. "Choose."

Bones narrowed his eyes at his best friend and roommate. He stuck his hand warily in the jacket and felt around. Not wanting to pull out the first PADD he touched, he instead went for the second. Pulling it out, McCoy tapped the screen to activate it. A few of the assembled cadets behind Bones gasped and giggled. Instead of laughing with them, McCoy cursed.

Loudly.

For two straight minutes.

After he was through exhausting his surprisingly extensive and in-depth vocabulary of expletives, Bones sat back in his chair and stared at Jim. How a man could swear that much for that length of time without repeating himself _once_ was a trick Kirk was going to have to get Bones to teach him when they were both sober again. It was truly impressive, and if Kirk was honest, slightly intimidating.

McCoy looked down at the PADD in his hands, thinking that perhaps if he shook the device, the words would be different. Nope. The words hadn't changed. It still said, "Streaking," in big, bold letters on the PADD in his hands. Bones was stuck between the figurative rock and hard place. In frustration, McCoy raked a hand through his already disheveled hair and sighed. "You're serious, Jim? This is extreme, even for you."

Without missing a beat, Kirk said, "I'm as serious as a heart attack."

"And what if I don't do it?"

"Don't get me wrong, Bones. No one's forcing you to do anything, especially go streaking across the Starfleet Academy campus," Jim started. Perhaps a little reverse psychology would work on the good doctor. "But, if you don't, you're going to give every one of these cadets here a good reason to keep on hazing you." Jim looked a couple of cadets in the eyes, knowing they were behind some of the most juvenile pranks played on the doctor.

"Well, I'm going to be that idiot you all know I am and say, 'no', Jim," Bones said after some thought.

The crowd literally deflated, and Jim noticed credits discreetly changing hands. The room began to clear, though it was apparent some of the cadets would be staying. Sighing, Kirk picked up the unused beer and motioned with his head. "Come on, Bones. Let's go."

"Yeah. Probably wise."

Back in their room, Kirk and McCoy both ditched their smelly bar clothes and plopped down on their respective beds. Bones snagged the half-full bottle of bourbon sitting on his desk and twisted off the cap with practiced ease. He took one long swallow, feeling the alcohol burn a path from his throat to his stomach. It was a familiar and welcome feeling.

Behind him, Jim yawned loudly. "I'm gonna hit the rack, Bones. I'm tired."

McCoy just grunted once in agreement and turned off the light. The room was suddenly plunged into total darkness and Bones went back to drinking. Lying on his back, the doctor started thinking about what Kirk had said earlier in the recreation room. Did the entire population of the school _really_ think he was just some crazy, desperate old man who was here because no one else wanted him? Though it was technically the truth, it wasn't as if all the cadets needed to believe that. Taking another long pull from the bottle, McCoy contemplated.

Perhaps he really did need to do something unexpected, something so uniquely unlike him. Maybe then some of the students who'd been giving him trouble would leave him alone. It would be awfully nice, Bones thought, to be able to go about his day without worrying about what the next stunt would be from whoever was jealous of him that particular week.

What the hell? It was just his ego, anyway.

Before he could talk himself out of it, McCoy levered himself up out of bed. Tiptoeing in the dark to the closet, he rifled through it, finding the ratty old green jacket he'd been wearing on that fateful shuttle trip almost two years previous crammed in the very back recesses. Pulling it out, Bones shook it a couple of times to divest it of all the dust and dirt accumulated in the past two years. It was perfect. Just long enough to cover…everything until he got outside.

As silently as a man three sheets to the wind could manage, McCoy stripped his shirt and pants. Standing the dark in his underwear, he felt strangely self-conscious which was ridiculous, given what he was about to do. Hooking his fingers under the elastic band, McCoy took a deep breath and let thin fabric fall to the floor. Bones grabbed his discarded clothes, tossed them all haphazardly on his bed, and threw the coat around him. He zipped it securely and shoved his feet into his shower sandals. Resolutely, he made his way down out the door.

By 0200, the dorm had quieted considerably. Most of the cadets had either passed out, gone to bed, or had retired to a room to finish off their evening. The hallways were deserted, something Bones thought was a plus. McCoy took the back stairs down to the ground level and walked around to the front of the building.

Starfleet Academy's dorms were set like any major university. Set in the shape of the a square, they were within walking distance of the educational buildings, but far enough away as to discourage any deviant behavior from running over to the actual campus. In the middle of the square of dorm buildings was a quad area of sorts, a place where students often gathered to study. At this time of the night and with the semester over, it was deserted.

Bones took a hard look around. If he was going to do this, it was now or never. Looking back, he'd probably never be able to actively articulate _why_ he did what he did. It simply wouldn't make sense. He may be able to blame the booze, blame Kirk, or blame that goddamn ridiculous drinking game, but when it came down to it, McCoy was tired of being predictable. Stepping down off the concrete and onto the cool grass, Bones unzipped his jacket. As he let it fall off his shoulders and puddle at his feet, he took a deep breath. Drawing in as much air into his chest as would fit, McCoy let out the loudest scream he could muster and went tearing across the lawn.

Up in the room, Jim heard a yell that sounded oddly like his best friend. But, as Kirk sat up and scratched his head, he mused, '_Bones doesn't yell. Bones growls and glares._ _He's sarcastic and snarky, but he doesn't straight-out scream_.'

Jim turned his head and threw his dirty sock in the direction of McCoy's bed, knowing he'd hit the doctor squarely in the face if he were there. When no indignant cursing came from the lump of blankets across the room, Kirk got up and ordered the lights to thirty percent. Sure enough, there was no trace of McCoy in the bed on the adjacent side of the room.

Confusion was not a look that Jim Kirk wore well, but his brain would not process what he was hearing as an act directly correlated to the night's bet. But, as he heard the excited voices of a few cadets outside his door, curiosity got the better of him. Something was going down, and he wouldn't be Jim Kirk if he didn't at _least_ go out to see what it was. Sliding his feet into his PT sneakers, Kirk grabbed his data recorder and walked outside to see what all the fuss was about. Apparently, the majority of the cadets had the same idea, as most were nearly _running_ toward the door.

"Where's the fire, man?" Jim asked to a passing cadet.

The excited young man practically dragged Kirk down the hall alongside. "Are you kidding me? Some medical cadet is streaking across campus!"

Kirk was thankful that his jaw was physically connected to his skull, for that that moment, it may have fallen completely off given the alternative. Putting up his hand, Jim pulled them both to a halt and clarified, "No, wait, wait, wait. Did you just say what I think you said?"

"Yeah, man! It's no joke!" the young man answered excitedly.

"Medical cadet, you said?" Jim confirmed.

"Yeah. Why, is that a big deal?"

Without waiting for a response, Kirk took off at a dead run for the nearest door.

The decibel level in the atrium was deafening. Laughter rang out, bouncing off the walls and off the ceiling. Kirk peeked over his shoulder long enough to see the assembled cadets doubled over in laughter, some even on the ground and the floor. Most people were crying, others hanging on to friends, acquaintances or random strangers for support. A handful pointed and gaped, but the entirety of the group had one thing in common: all of them were stunned silly by the night's developments.

The herd of cadets pushed and shoved their unruly way out the door, bottlenecking when they all got stuck at the threshold. Jim, stuck in the middle of the throng of humanity, was not moving anywhere because thirty cadets were definitely not supposed to go through one door at the same time. He was ready to say 'screw it' and head up back to bed when he caught a flash of familiar dark hair sprinting across the quad. in the quick glance, Jim took in the streaker's face shape, nose, mouth and unmistakably wild eyes. And, when his gaze inevitably traveled down, Kirk thought his eyeballs might pop out of his head.

Leonard McCoy, the student body elect Boring Old Guy, was sprinting, stark-ass naked, through campus.

Voluntarily.

And, he was apparently loving it.

For once in his life, Kirk was stunned into speechlessness. No smart-ass remark, witty comeback or even coherent thought managed to form in his brain as his eyes digested the information. But, while his cognitive speech patters had failed him, his muscle memory still managed to remember to pull out his data recorder and hit the 'capture' button in time to catch McCoy's image as he ran screaming in front of the main residence hall.

One by one, Jim saw the lights to the individual rooms lining this side of each respective dorms. A few audible shouts of annoyance could be heard raining down, but soon, most of the verbal votes of displeasure were drowned out by the laughter and gasps coming from the windows. As the surprise was replaced on every level of the dorm by admiration and laughter, hoots and hollers encouraging McCoy to continue floated through the quad. The doctor gave a couple of enthusiastic fist pumps to the cadets witnessing his act of bravery and continued his crazy parade.

Jim Kirk, resident troublemaker of Starfleet Academy, stood on the stoop of his residence hall, threw back his head and laughed. His evening's goal of loosening up his roommate had been stupendously accomplished, though Jim had never imagined it to be quite so spectacular in execution. How he'd managed to pull this stunt off was completely beyond his comprehension. Every dare Jim had written out on those six PADDs weren't anything he'd actually expected McCoy to do. They were just meant to get a hearty reaction out of the doctor in hopes of getting him to forget about death, disease and trauma, even if it was just for one night. Never in a million light years did Kirk expect his straight-laced roommate to actually _agree_ to follow through on any of the most un-McCoy like dares.

Kirk happily snapped holopic after holopic and took a couple of videos for good measure. Reviewing his footage, Jim chuckled and hit 'save,' adding a password and dual deletion confirmations on top of it. He'd gotten some epically good footage, and he needed to make sure he never accidentally erased it. He pressed a couple more buttons to send it to his personal PADD.

Laughing loudly from his belly, Jim watched the MP security team, late to the party as usual, start to chase Bones around the quad in an utterly miserable example of cat and mouse. It appeared the security officers not only underestimated McCoy's strength, but forgot about his vast knowledge of the human body, for they were all fighting an uphill battle trying to subdue the man. Every instance in which one of the fun kills would get a fingernail on the man was a chance for the doctor to demonstrate just how much it can hurt when a certain amount of pressure is applied to the right spot.

The young cadet whistled innocently and turned to walk back up the steps to his room. For once, Jim didn't really want to be a party to the shenanigans. He was till on behavioral probation for that water balloon incident with Cupcake a few weeks earlier, and though Jim may have been a bit crazy, he wasn't suicidal enough to incur the Wrath of Pike twice in a month. When the door slid shut behind him, Kirk stowed his data recorder in a safe place and snagged his PADD off the corner of his desk. He flipped it on and accepted the upload from his recorder.

Jim threw back the covers to his bed and hopped in. He settled himself against the headboard as he reviewed and edited together some of the best bits of tape he was able to snap. As he was sifting through his list of music to add an appropriate song, the only thought on Kirk's mind was, '_Someday, when Bones is a CMO, that tape will be worth its weight in dilithium.'_ He tapped the 'save' button and contemplated momentarily, his stylus hovering over the 'send' button, with the recipient being McCoy's PADD. Jim thought the nice thing to do would be to wait and see exactly how much trouble Bones would be in before he sent him a reminder of the night's escapades.

Pillowing his head on his arms, Jim internally cringed as a final thought invaded his mind._ 'And if he kills me in the process, maybe his lawyers can use it to form an acceptable defense_.'

Laughing as he nodded off, Kirk decided that, death notwithstanding, whatever McCoy did to him in retaliation would be worth it in spades.

* * *

**Next Up**: Pike reads a report that damn near gives him a heart attack, and McCoy discovers the true meaning of the phrase 'mortified embarrassment.'


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note**: For those of you unfamiliar with your beer, that contest was so unfair because Sam Adams' Triple Bock has an alcohol content of about seventeen percent, while Budweiser's is about five percent. Couple that with the fact that Kirk is younger and fitter, AND that McCoy had a decent head start, it was never really much of a contest to being with. Sucks to be the doctor, don't it?

As McCoy might say, "Good god, man!" I really, really did try to keep this to a ten page one-shot. But, I have this somewhat psychotic need to connect everything and make it flow. Then, Pike decided he wanted a bigger role in this story, and he wouldn't shut up until I acquiesced. I mean, the man's an Admiral, so it's not like I can say no. Now, without further adieu, chapter 2, otherwise know as the, "Morning after the night before." Enjoy.

**Disclaimer**: Nothing recognizable is mine. I own just a very overactive muse and a whacked sense of humor, neither of which you'll get if you sue me.

* * *

**Chapter 2**

Captain Christopher Pike walked briskly into his office at 0600. Like most Wednesday mornings, he started early with a cup of coffee (regular, of course), a bagel (plain, extra cream cheese), and the latest news from the Federation on the video feed while he skimmed the various academic and discipline reports from the past week. Beginning with the mundane, Pike looked over progress reports from the cadets who were in the clutches of academic difficulties. He divided them into two piles: those showing progress, and those who needed a swift kick in the ass.

The next step was reading all the behavior reports from the various MPs and resident advisors throughout the campus. He sighed. The end of the semester usually meant one of two things: one, the level of needed discipline would plummet because classes were through, or two, the level of needed discipline would rise sharply simply _because classes were done._ There never seemed to a third direction. Mostly, the reports ranged from the mundane fight to the hilarious odd occurrence, and back to the strictly unbelievable. The only thing each incident had in common was that they all generally made Pike shake his head in disbelief at the rampant stupidity among some of the universe's brightest minds.

Digitally thumbing through the reports, Pike glanced over the regulation broken and the cadet's name. Most were first time incidents and likely to never to be punished again, but others were repeat offenders, some on their respective ways out the door. Like the academic discipline reports, Pike divided the incident summaries into two categories as well. The cadets who'd never had trouble would get the requisite 'Come to Jesus' lecture to scare them straight; the habitual troublemakers would likely not be so fortunate. Strangely, the Captain didn't see a discipline report mentioning James Kirk once. That in and of itself was an odd occurrence, but perhaps the cadet was turning over a new leaf.

Pike internally rolled his eyes. Kirk will keep himself out of trouble when hell freezes over. '_You'll do well to remember that you brought him here, Chris. If he's a pain in your ass, whose fault is that?_' he mentally questioned himself.

Halfway through the list, Chris literally spit out his coffee and dropped the PADD in total shock. Cursing, he picked the small device up and wiped it with a napkin from his morning bagel. The screen clear, Pike looked again. The name and the infractions remained the same.

'_McCoy, Leonard H. Infractions 601.24 and 587.59. Cadet escorted to brig for observation and possible medical assistance_.'

With gentleness he didn't normally display, Pike put the PADD down on his desk. He leaned back in his chair and laced his hands together behind his head. Mentally, he checked the regulations and the associated numbers for the fifth time. Pike knew the regs like the back of his hand, and had, in fact, memorized them. There was no way he could be wrong, but then how could that report be right? '_Public intoxication and…streaking?_' the captain thought.

A deep ridge formed on Pike's face, the man deep in thought. This had to be some sort of a joke. The captain knew that both McCoy and Kirk were sources of envy around campus when compared to the other cadets. Most coveted Kirk for his charm, wit and as it turned out, his brains, and McCoy because of the MD already attached to his name. Both men had done exceptionally well in the past two years, placing at the top of their class in their respective fields, despite the appearance that they were both aloof and uncaring. Apparently, one of the side effects of doing well was unwanted, unwarranted, jealous attention.

Kirk, the people person, had very little trouble deflecting the negativity. Those who couldn't be dissuaded by his charm ultimately met the business end of his fist or his intellect. The introverted doctor, on the other hand, hadn't been so fortunate. A solid decade plus a few of years older than most of the cadets, Bones had very little in common with his peers. He also didn't go out of his way to try and get to know them on anything more than a passing familiarity or in a professional sense. Add on top of that the fact of McCoy's wonderfully stunning personality, and it equated to quite a bit of hazing from the student body. Perhaps this was just another attempt to smear what was McCoy's exceptional record through the mud, and to be completely honest, Pike was sick of dealing with the juvenile entrapments of a few jealous cadets.

The captain hit the comm button on his speaker.

"_Yes, Captain Pike?_" Gloria Stuart, Pike's yeoman answered.

"Could you get Commander Rowe in here please?"

"_Right away, sir. What can I tell him it's regarding?_"

"Just tell him I need to see him about a discipline report he filed early this morning."

Ten minutes later, a young commander in Academy black stood in front of Pike's desk. His expression feigned a forced neutrality and professional calm. A deeper look revealed a nervousness in his eyes, one which said he didn't know what warranted being dragged into a captain's office this early on Wednesday morning, especially when he'd just come off duty for the night. The young man was worried, plain and simple. Before he could let any more of his emotion leak through his facial expression, Rowe composed himself and asked, "What can I do for you today, sir?"

Pike held up the PADD with Rowe's report. He was not in the mood for this crap this early on Wednesday morning, though he couldn't imagine what anyone would have on the Academy's Chief of Security large enough to rope him into helping on this particular stunt. Tossing the PADD to Rowe, Pike asked, "Is this report accurate, Commander? Because if this is some idea of a joke, I swear I will shove your head out your ass so fast, you won't even have time to smell your own shit."

The young Commander analyzed the angry expression on Pike's face and wisely bit his tongue to cut off the indignant remark he felt coming on. Instead, he took the PADD to read the report. Rowe's brows furrowed as he read and he shook his head back and forth. His expression darkened briefly before taking on a neutral quality once again. Before he spoke, the Commander raised his eyes to make contact with his superior. "No joke, sir. Everything in the report is completely accurate and personally witnessed by not only my team, but myself."

Leaning in on his elbows, Pike narrowed his eyes. Though his anger had ebbed, he still wanted to be very, very clear. "Son, you mean to tell me that every event, place, time and most specifically, every _name_, is correct?"

"Yes, sir. Of course, sir."

The captain's gaze was incredulous. "Leonard McCoy," Pike began, "Doctor Leonard Horatio McCoy, the man who I thought had a three foot long rod wedged permanently up his ass for the last two years, got drunk and went _streaking_ through campus last night?"

Rowe nodded dumbly. "I couldn't believe it, either, sir. When we finally stopped him, he almost got away from my team and me because we were all so shocked when we figured out who it was." The nervous man looked down at his feet, clearly uncomfortable. "And then we discovered the doctor is stronger than he looks, sir."

"Well, considering the man nearly failed hand to hand, I'd suggest you go over a refresher course with your people. If a guy who needed Jim Kirk's barroom brawling expertise to pass a basic self-defense course could inflict this much damage on them, maybe you're not doing something right" Pike admonished. "They need to learn to treat every situation individually, and not to go into a fight with preconceived notions about the skill of their opponent."

"Yes, sir. I've already written out a training schedule to address that issue. There will not be a repeat of this, Captain. On that, I can assure you," Rowe succinctly replied, clearly embarrassed that his people were bested by a doctor who could barely fight his way out of wet paper bag a year previous.

Pike shifted leaned back in his chair, resting his chin on his fist. He believed Rowe. The man had an excellent reputation as an MP and his expressions and actions were genuine. The captain felt a bit of a smile begin to tug at his face and the laughter start to form in the pit of his stomach. He stamped both urges down as quickly as they came, for he would not laugh in the presence of a subordinate, especially when it could be potentially damaging to another cadet's ability to lead.

Schooling his features to passivity again, Pike lowered his voice and said, "All right, Commander. I believe you. Thank you for the report. You're dismissed."

"Sir." Rowe straightened up to attention and about-faced to walk out the door.

As soon as the door to his office clicked closed, Pike gave in to urge that was threatening to boil over. "Well I'll be god dammed," Pike said, tossing the stylus on the desktop. The laugh started as just a bubble of a chuckle rising up to the top, its escape unintentional. But before long, the Academy Captain found himself clutching the PADD detailing McCoy's outlandish night and laughing his ass off.

After a beat to calm himself and to wipe the tears from the corners of his eyes Pike hit the comm button again. "Gloria, get me the brig and tell them to send Dr. McCoy over here. An escort isn't necessary. I trust him."

"_An escort?_" A pause. "_Sir, doesn't Dr. McCoy work over at the hospital?_"

"Yes, he does, but right now he's a guest of the brig, not an employee. Can you see that he makes his way over here, please?"

Gloria stuttered. "_Guest of the- Ye-Yes, sir_."

The captain smirked as he imagined the obvious befuddled look that was likely all over his yeoman's face.

Pike busied himself by reading the rest of the reports while he waited for the doctor to show up. He found that he had to physically suppress the urge the laugh and smile when his brain inadvertently rolled back to his latest source of amusement. The report was simply too funny and Pike only hoped he could hold it together long enough to keep himself from literally laughing in McCoy's face. It was always the quiet ones that surprised the hell out of him, and Leonard McCoy was turning out to be no exception.

It was in those few minutes of waiting during which Captain Christopher Pike came to the conclusion that, sometimes, being the resident Starfleet Academy Czar of Discipline wasn't such a boring job after all.

* * *

Consciousness came back to McCoy slowly, his brain still fuzzy and sluggish. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and could hear the blood rushing through his veins. The doctor knew he was lying on the ground, for the cold of cement seeped through his skin and down to his core. Slowly, he cracked one eye open, only to be rewarded as the sunlight tried to viciously stab a hole through the back of his skull. Snapping his eyes closed again, McCoy heard a distant, strangled moan. It took him a second to realize the moan came from him.

Bones flexed his fingers and wrists. He was apparently lying face down on his stomach, one cheek resting on the cement. McCoy felt some wetness around the corner of his mouth and realized embarrassingly that his cheek was submerged in a puddle of his own drool. Gingerly, he lifted his head off the cement and chanced opening his eyes one more time. When he was relatively certain that his brain wasn't trying to escape through his ears, Bones opened his eyes fully.

This did not look like his dorm. In fact, this didn't look like any room on campus he'd ever seen, and that included the inside of the hospital. Moving his eyes and his eyes only, McCoy took stock of his surroundings. The room was small with no carpeting, perhaps eight or ten feet square. There were two large benches affixed to each wall with a stainless steel toilet and freestanding sink on one side. Off to Bones' right he saw a set of archaic metal bars running from floor to ceiling and-

Oh, _shit_.

McCoy's listless brain finally caught up with what his eyes were seeing. This was the _brig_. If he'd had the energy, Bones would have slapped himself in the face right then and there. Instead, he settled for rolling over on his back with a grunt. The sudden movement of turning 180 degrees threw off his already shaky equilibrium and for a few moments, the world spun nicely. However, his stomach chose that particular moment to revolt, and McCoy found himself scrambling on all fours toward the toilet. He shoved his face in and heaved up everything he ate or drank the night before, which included, apparently, a large portion of the San Francisco bay. Wait. Since when did the Bay smell like booze?

Bones, spent after his visit to the porcelain, no _metal_, god, scooted back to lean up against the wall. The bench looked infinitely more comfortable and probably a bit cleaner to boot, but it was too much work to get up that far. Instead, he rested his arms on his knees and his head on his arms.

What the hell did he do last night? For the first time, McCoy realized that he most certainly was not wearing the clothes he left his dorm in. He hadn't been wearing his uniform at the bar, but he certainly didn't go out in a pair of drawstring sweatpants and a t-shirt. And from his experience with treating patients straight from the brig, unless the garments presented an immediate a biohazard, cadets didn't necessarily need a change of clothes to sober up.

Before he could ponder the missing chunk of his memory any further, the bars slid open and one large cadet, the one Jim so lovingly nicknamed "Cupcake" in the now-infamous Iowa bar, stepped forward into the cell. Nudging McCoy with his foot a bit harder than necessary, he grumbled, "Let's go, sunshine. Get up. We got places to be today."

"Yeah, yeah. Give me a minute." McCoy glared, the larger man towering over him. When Cupcake reached for the doctor's arm, Bones pulled it back. "Dammit, man! I'm fairly sure I didn't forget how to stand up. I don't need your help."

Cupcake shrugged, clearly bored and irritated. "Suit yourself."

McCoy used the wall and literally hauled himself up to standing. He blinked hard a couple of times to keep the world from spinning even more; though, at this point should he have to revisit the toilet, it would just be dry heaves. Licking his dry lips, he asked, "Where are we going?"

Cupcake grunted and led the doctor out of the cell and down the hall. Once outside, he looked McCoy up and down. The smug sneer was evident on his face and dripped from his tone. "Pike's office. He needs to see you about something."

McCoy growled. The day just kept getting better and better.

* * *

Exactly seventeen minutes after Rowe left his office, a very bewildered yeoman opened the door to present one Leonard Horatio McCoy for Pike's inspection. Pike smelled the doctor before he saw him. When Gloria let Bones into his office, the captain purposely kept his head down, staring at a few strategically placed reports spread out on his desk for effect. Out of his peripheral vision, Chris saw McCoy do his best to come to attention and look professional, though his appearance and demeanor were anything but. The doctor tried valiantly to keep his nervous fidgeting to a minimum in front of his superior; Pike was on the fence as to how well that going for the man.

Setting down his stylus, Chris finally looked up. The doctor was indeed quite a sight, and Pike had a momentary flashback to when he'd first recruited McCoy straight off a bar floor in Iowa. Like two years previous, the doctor's clothes were dirty and disheveled, he was unshaven and was sporting a slightly crazy expression. Unlike then, however, he now had scratches running up and down his arms and his left cheek had a nice cut on it with a matching gash on the bridge of his nose. McCoy's eyes were dull and bloodshot, the undersides of which were accompanied by large, dark, puffy bags, signifying his lack of sleep. Bones' hair was sticking up in every conceivable direction, and most of all, the man simply _stank_.

Pike raised an eyebrow. All in all, it must have been one hell of a good night. Finally speaking, he settled on, "Jesus Christ, McCoy. You smell like a distillery."

The muscles in the doctor's jaw flexed. Pike wasn't sure if that was from embarrassment, or if the man was just trying not to spew all over the Captain's office. He'd sincerely hoped, for his office décor's sake, it was the former.

"Noted, sir."

"Do you want to tell me what happened last night?" the captain started.

The doctor's features flickered. "I," McCoy began. He stopped and wavered in place.

"Yes…," Pike encouraged. He'd never known McCoy to be shy with his thoughts or opinions, so it was curious Bones would be so mum on the subject now. Studying the doctor, the light bulb went off in the captain's head. '_He doesn't remember_.'

Bones did his level best to avoid fidgeting when he was supposed to be standing at attention. If the damned world would just stop spinning for one minute, he might be able to formulate a sentence that didn't sound like something Joanna would have muttered when she was two. "I-"

Pike sighed. He'd been young once, and Chris was acutely aware of the sheer amount of pain McCoy was undoubtedly in. So, in a rare act of benevolence, he decided to throttle back on the torture. "At ease, McCoy. Why don't you sit down before you fall down. It's clear you can't concentrate on standing up straight and talking at the same time this morning."

Though embarrassed, Bones was relieved. He sat heavily in the offered chair, whimpering quietly as the movement jarred his sore head. McCoy closed his eyes to regain his equilibrium. In doing so, he missed the amused scoff that escaped from the man sitting on the opposite side of the desk. McCoy opened his eyes and responded with an honest, "No, sir. Thank you."

"Now," Pike folded his hands carefully in front of him, "You don't remember anything about what you did last night, do you?"

McCoy suddenly found the dirt under his fingernails very interesting. After some hesitation, he decided to answer truthfully. He was always a horseshit liar, so to try it with someone like Pike, a man who could smell stink a few galaxies away, was probably not the wisest choice. "No, sir. Not all of it. I remember going out with Jim and some other people and I vaguely recall coming back to the dorm, but not anything after that."

The captain plucked the data PADD off the desk and turned it on. "Let me give you some inspired reading, then, McCoy. This report was written by Commander Rowe. Do you know him?"

McCoy nodded. "Yes, sir. Good man, from what I remember, though I haven't had much occasion to deal with him." McCoy let the ending of his statement hang in the air. Sighing, he mumbled under his breath, "Apparently, until now."

Pike let McCoy's mumbling slide. He didn't completely need to bust the man's balls straight away. Instead, he shifted in his seat. "'Good man' is right. Now, when I read it, this report really shocked me. I almost didn't believe him at first. Ended up grilling him pretty hard about it make sure it was true." Pike handed the PADD over to McCoy and simply waited for the reaction he knew was coming when the doctor began scanning the incident report.

At first, McCoy gave no clues of physical reaction. Then, without warning, all the color in Bones' face literally plummeted to his feet. For a brief moment, Bones went as white as a sheet until a subtle blush began snaking its way up his neck. A few seconds later, the light pink had morphed into bright cadet red, the doctor's nose and ears blazing with embarrassment which would easily have matched his uniform. Chris watched McCoy's eyes grow bigger and bigger as he read, the physical reaction significant enough that Pike had one finger nearing his comm to page the infirmary.

"Good _God_, man! I didn't! I-I couldn't. I-I wouldn't. I think." Bones set the PADD gently down on Pike's desk. Chris noticed the doctor's normally rock-steady hands were shaking. McCoy vehemently shook his head, or as much as he dared with the current hangover he was sporting. Resolutely, he said to himself as much as Pike, "No. There's no way I did that, sir. This has got to be another joke."

Pike scoffed. "That's what I thought at first, too, McCoy. But, it's what happened. As I just said, I confirmed it with Rowe and his team of security officers."

Bones threw any attempt at salvaging what remained of his dignity out the figurative window and dropped his head into his hands, letting out a loud, strangled groan in the process. To Pike, it sounded strangely like an animal being tortured, or that of a highly embarrassed Starfleet cadet.

McCoy's voice, though muffled by his hands, took on a distinctly whiny quality. "I went _streaking_? Oh, dear god, sir. Could you just kill me now?"

The captain leaned back in his chair and allowed himself the luxury of a small smirk. He motioned to the doctor's face and arms. "By the looks of it McCoy, you put up quite a fight. Gave Higgins a bloody nose and dislocated Singh's shoulder. It took Perez jumping on your back to put you in a triangle choke to finally get you on the ground."

McCoy scoffed, his memory at being dressed down by the diminutive officer on the shuttle from Iowa still fresh in his mind. Of course she'd be the one to put his ass down. The Southern gentleman in him, not that he was acting much like it now, hoped he hadn't hurt her last night. Not bothering to pick his head up, McCoy blurted, "I'm surprised she just didn't kick me in the balls and be done with it, sir."

"Dr. McCoy, at that point, I think you would have deserved it."

"I won't disagree with you, sir." Bones sighed. It was time to pay the piper. He picked up his head looked Captain Pike in the eye. "So, what am I facing here for discipline, Captain? Sanctions?" He paused. "Expulsion?"

"I won't lie to you, Cadet, I'm well within my means to kick your sorry, hungover ass out of the program this instant. You injured two security officers, not to mention your conduct which was more than unbecoming of a potential officer."

McCoy hung his head, no longer able to hold Pike's intimidating gaze. Whatever his future held, it was now in the Captain's hands. If he was booted from Starfleet…Bones didn't even want to think about what that might mean. When he'd enlisted, McCoy literally had nowhere else to go, and he doubted that would have changed in the two years he was a cadet. His expression open and accepting of his fate, Bones asked earnestly, "What are you going to do with me, sir?"

Contrary to the premonition most the population harbored in regards to military officers, Pike's status as a high with Starfleet did not equate to the inability to feel sympathy. Looking across the desk, the captain felt a gentle tug at his emotions as he gazed into the wounded, broken look on the doctor's face. It was the same one he'd seen on the shuttle two years previous, and one he recognized as that of a desperate man. Pike knew of McCoy's history and he was well aware the man had nothing else, and most importantly, nowhere else to go. And, there was also the matter of Jim Kirk. For some reason, the brash but brilliant young man subconsciously counted on the surly doctor to be the voice of reason. It was no coincidence they were roommates, and the one-two punch that was Kirk and McCoy needed to stay intact.

Shaking out of his revere, Chris lifted his eyebrows and asked, "I don't know, Doctor. What do you think I should do?" It was rhetorical and Pike knew it, and he also knew it would get him inside the head of Leonard McCoy.

Bones blew out a breath and it was only the years of Pike's military training that kept the look of disgust off his face from the steady smell of booze wafting off the doctor's person. "I'll defer to your judgment, sir. I trust you."

"Sure that's wise, McCoy?"

If it were possible, Bones deflated even more, his posture sagging into the chair. "Probably not, Captain, but I do trust you. And, at this point, what choice do I have?"

Pike tilted his head to the side, sizing up the man in front of him. The captain had zero intention of kicking McCoy out. It was something Pike knew from the moment he'd called the doctor into his office. Starfleet, in his opinion, lacked quality doctors who were independent thinkers and advocates for their patients, not just the medicine. McCoy was what Pike thought a CMO should be, and he'd be damned if he'd lose one of Starfleet's brightest assets to a stupid bet.

But, that didn't necessarily mean he'd let McCoy, and more specifically McCoy's ego, off easily. Content to let the doctor worry for a few minutes while he 'mulled' over a career choice, the captain picked up a PADD that contained McCoy's records and pretended to look it over. Pike carefully schooled his features to present the aura of the harsh disciplinarian, not a guy who thought what Bones did was absolutely the funniest thing he'd heard in a very, very long time. '_No smiles, Chris_,' he reminded himself as he read.

After a very long and very tense five minutes for McCoy, Pike tapped the screen off and finally spoke. "Doctor McCoy, what you did was probably the most juvenile, disgusting and idiotic things I've seen done during my tenure on this campus. Not only are you a doctor, but you're also older than all of these kids here. You're supposed to be the compass. They look up to you."

"Yes, sir." McCoy, for once, wisely kept his snarky temper in check.

"Your colleagues and your patients have to respect you if they're going to acquiesce to your requests, demands, and most importantly, your orders. You can't very well override your captain's order on medical basis if the senior staff you work with remembers you for some stupid stunt you pulled at the Academy," Pike scolded. With a cringe he couldn't suppress, he added, "Though I think now they're going to be getting a different mental image every time you do their check-ups."

McCoy groaned. He hadn't thought of that. Though in his defense, the night previous, he wasn't thinking about much of anything. Grimacing, he ground out a very terse, "Yes, sir. I understand."

Pike shifted his position, resting his elbows and forearms on his desk. He leaned in and said, "The bottom line is that I expect better from someone like you, McCoy."

"I expect better from myself, sir. I don't know what got into me last night. I-," McCoy stopped, snapping his mouth closed. Bones had already made a complete fool of himself, so he didn't need to be babbling incoherently in front of Captain Pike. "I'm not trying to make excuses, sir. What I did was stupid and reckless and completely juvenile."

"I know you're not making excuses, McCoy, but that doesn't change the facts."

"I understand that, sir" McCoy answered. His heart sank a little further. The Academy Captain's eyes were cold and unforgiving. McCoy saw no sympathy in them, just disappointment. He sighed internally. Pike was going to kick him out.

"That said," Pike appended, leaning back in his chair, "I will not be expelling you from this school."

Bones' posture sagged in obvious relief, his emotions and hangover making it too difficult for him to stick to decorum. "Thank you, sir," he breathed earnestly. It was the best news he'd received in a long time.

Pike fixed him with a stare that had murderous intent written all over it. He pointed a finger in McCoy's direction. "Oh, no. You're not off the hook yet, Doctor. From this moment on, you are on behavioral probation until I see fit to remove you. If you so much as sneeze out of line, that strange sensation you feel in the seat of your pants will be my foot up your ass!"

McCoy rocketed up from his chair to attention, wavering as he stood. Pike barely resisted the urge to jump up and steady the younger man. Though his face paled considerably, Bones blinked hard but somehow managed to remain steady. "Yes, sir."

Fiddling with the data PADD, Pike muttered a hard, "Now get the hell out of my office, Cadet."

"Sir!" McCoy nodded and executed an about-face, but Pike's voice stopped him before he'd even taken the first step.

"Oh, and McCoy? I'd suggest a shower and a fresh change of clothes. You may even be able to spare some of your dignity if you make it back to your dorm early enough. Most people aren't up yet," Pike added, adjusting his mess on his desk. The captain's eyes had softened considerably, though Chris made a point to keep his facial expression sharp and hard.

Bones rolled his eyes before he turned back around to face his superior. There was a trace of something McCoy couldn't quite identify dancing about in the captain's eyes, and Bones wasn't particularly sure he liked it. Was it possibly sympathy? Amusement? Sighing, McCoy gave a flat, "Yes, sir," turned, and walked out the door and down the hall. Bones avoided making eye contact with anyone on the way out the door, and set his mind on getting back to the dorm as fast as he possibly could. Only when he'd safely arrived at his home would he allow himself to die of mortification.

Pike watched the door click shut behind McCoy before the smile that was threatening to turn into a laugh the entire meeting spread across his face. Christopher Pike was not the heartless bastard all the cadets who faced his wrath claimed he was. Truth be told, Pike had a soft spot for both Kirk and McCoy, and his goal was to be able to mentor the men into the officers he knew they would someday be. Both were his recruits, brought in to Starfleet when few other options were available. For today, the captain really did hope McCoy was able to make it back to his room without being seen by too many people. The poor man's ego was already bruised enough, and Chris hated to be the guy that had to add salt to the wound. But, it was his job, like it or not.

Punching up his access code to Starfleet Academy's intranet, Pike surfed over to the student pages. As the head of the board of discipline, he had full access to any and all media posted by various cadets and staff members. Seeing the video format of what the kids did during their down time helped him do his job more effectively, and in some cases, assisted in setting the record straight. Pike always thought that people lied, but video didn't.

In the search box, the captain punched in 'Leonard McCoy,' his finger hovering over the enter key. He leaned back in his chair and hit the backspace button to clear the field. Instead, Pike settled on 'Streaking' and punched enter.

About a dozen videos popped up, but the one with the most hits was the first one in the search string. Pike clicked on it and burst out laughing for the second time that morning. He was surprised to hear music floating out of his speakers, though the Chris' loud, barking laughs drowned out most of the song. He paid little attention to the lyrics; however, he was sure it was an old 21st century song about none other than alcohol as an inhibition killer. Whoever had taken the video had a front-row seat for the action, for the camera caught a close up McCoy a couple times yelling and screaming directly past. If it weren't for the constant gyration of the lens, something that could probably be attributed to the photographer's shaking laughs, it would have been a quality video.

Clearing his throat, Pike searched out every video he could find detailing McCoy's victory lap around campus. He knew Kirk was one thing, McCoy a different matter entirely. If the situations had been reversed, Kirk would have laughed it off, but not the doctor. The streaking incident alone would literally embarrass McCoy for years _without_ any video evidence available on the campus intranet. And because he was a professional, Pike thought that perhaps it was his civic duty to prevent any further damage to McCoy's career in Starfleet. In one fell swoop, the Czar of Academy Discipline deleted all of the related videos, sent disciplinary summons to the seventeen cadets who had uploaded videos, and sent a memo to all of Starfleet Academy, reminding them of the proper use of StarNet.

Satisfied with his work for a less than average Wednesday morning, Pike went about shuffling the various tasks around his desk. He sighed. After this incident, the rest of the week was going to be a total drag.

* * *

Kirk woke to the sound of muffled cursing and mechanical beeps of disapproval. The locking mechanism had always been a little touchy on their door, and the trick was to enter the code smoothly and with rhythm to finesse it open. Peeking over at the nightstand chronometer, Jim smirked. At 0645 after a night like last night, it could only be one person on the other side of the door. Finally, after the third attempt, the door swung open and Leonard McCoy stumbled into the room.

Kirk's eyes widened despite the sudden influx of light from the hallway when he saw his roommate and best friend's state of dishevel. If Jim didn't know better, he would have said McCoy looked downright _debauched_.

Bones made a beeline for his bed, sinking down into it face first. Not even having the energy to move further, McCoy left his legs dangling off the side. A groan, quieted by the pillow, escaped him. The doctor could feel Kirk's curious eyes boring through him; though at this point, it felt like _everything_ was trying to drill a hole through his skull. McCoy lifted his pounding head an inch off the pillow and turned one bloodshot eye to face his roommate. "I swear to god if you say anything right now, I will jab you with every hypospray I can think of just for fun."

Kirk laughed, quieting the sound when McCoy winced. "Oh, come on Bones. You look like you had a great time last night."

"I assure you that my last two hours were not a 'great time' by any means. In the last two hours, I woke up in the brig, nearly spewed all over myself, dealt with that annoying ass Cupcake, got hauled into Captain Pike's office, was told I went streaking, and was laughed at by said Captain. And this is all with no memories of what I did last night." Bones snarked, laying his head back down on the pillow. What he'd give right now for a hypo. Or a phaser, not particularly in that order.

"I dunno. Sounds pretty fun to me!" Jim was practically bouncing.

"You are entirely too chipper for this time of day, Jim," McCoy said, mustering the best glare he could manage while his head was still spinning. As an afterthought, he added, "And kid, if that's what you think fun is, I'd hate to know what you consider torture. Now, kindly shut the hell up so I can sleep off the mother of all hangovers."

Instead of verbally torturing Bones further, Kirk decided to take pity on his rather pituful roommate. He got up and shut the extra set of blinds to completely block out the sun. The room was nearly pitch black, and Jim was rewarded with a pathetic whimper of relief from the lump of humanity sprawled haphazardly on the adjacent bed. Settling himself back on his own sleeping area, Jim asked, "But, did you at least have a good time?"

McCoy sighed. He had a feeling last night was a set up from the word go. He knew the beer he'd been drinking was heavier than the crap Kirk had, but at the time he was already too drunk to call him out on it. Bones also had a feeling that there wasn't really any petition to get him to go out in the first place. But, aggressive questioning, medical threats, or opening up a can of whoop-ass on the subject would have to wait until he could stand up with wanting to hurl.

On the edge of sleep, Bones eyelids drooped. He buried his head in his pillow and toed off his shoes, letting them both fall unceremoniously to the floor. Just moving his legs to be physically on the bed was more work than McCoy would ever care to admit. Groaning, he wrapped his arms around his pillow and quietly mumbled, "Yeah, Jim. I had a good time."

Jim's smile of triumphant glee was nearly audible. Jumping up off his bed, he took two quick strides across the room and patted Bones on the calf. "I'm glad, man. Really, I am."

Eyes fluttering closed, McCoy whispered, "Me, too, Jim. Me, too."

He just really wished he could remember it.

**-FIN-**

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**And that's it! Thanks for reading, and I hoped you all enjoyed this tour into my extremely warped mind. Comments are loved! Take care, y'all!


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